


Fiona

by petunia846



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petunia846/pseuds/petunia846
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Michael it's more than just my name, more than just a moniker…Fi, Fiona, whichever. With Michael it's part of the message, part of the signal. Sometimes, when he says my name, that's it. That is the message.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fiona

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Michael](https://archiveofourown.org/works/59951) by [petunia846](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petunia846/pseuds/petunia846). 



People tend to use my name a lot when they’re talking to me, but there’s no time that I listen to the sound of my name more intently, than when it’s Michael’s voice. With Michael it’s more than just my name, more than just a moniker…Fi, Fiona, whichever. With Michael it’s part of the message, part of the signal. Sometimes, when he says my name, that’s it. That _is_ the message. It’s like talking to a freakin’ Enigma machine. I guess it’s a spy thing...conveying meaning symbolically, like some sort of secret code or whatever. You know, double meanings, ulterior motives, hidden agendas…blah, blah, blah.

There’s one “Fi,” for example, that means please. He might as well be at my feet on bended knee, soulful eyes begging and pleading.

“Fi…Think you could make a scene?”

“Fi…Got any C4 in the trunk?”

“Fi…You have got to stop calling my mother.”

There’s also the “Fi” he uses as a warning…as if I’m a child, gleefully eyeing a mud puddle. It might be that he suspects a blast I’m working on will be a bit too big. It might be that I’m reaching for the last yogurt in his fridge. Or it might be that he’s been ignoring me for the last ten minutes, so I’ve decided to point a gun at his head until he answers my damn question.

If I miss the warning, or if I just exercise my right to ignore it, I’ll typically end up on the receiving end of a frustrated “Fiona.”

“Fiona…I said shoot him a nasty _look_, not shoot him!”

Sometimes, when I’m bored, I like to call him, just to hear the, “Yeah Fi?” But then, once he realizes I’ve only called to describe the five new pairs of shoes I bought that day, I get the sigh of “Fiona.”

Switching the topic to any firearms I also happened to pick up usually brings him back around.

The one that breaks my heart though only escapes after dark. We’ll be asleep and in the middle of my peaceful dreams about finding matching shoe-shotgun sets on sale he’ll scream “Fiona” and the scream will echo slightly through his unfurnished, cavern of a home. It’s shocking to see him like that. He’s in another place, another time, far away…until I take his hand and pull him back down to the pillows with me. I shush him softly and he’ll bury his face against my shoulder where he thinks I won't be able to hear him and he’ll just breathe, “Fiona.”


End file.
